Last Tango in Westchester
by Su-Whisterfield
Summary: What *do* Germans eat for breakfast? The morning after Kurt returns from the dead in Amazing X-Men 1. There have been, er, celebrations most of the night. Just ask the telepaths. Who's doing what to whom is none of our business.


Hank stumbles down towards the main kitchen, he _really_ needs to replace his coffee machine in the lab, he can't trek down here all the time. Thieving little monsters. He's still considering extermination.

He passes Ororo, it's very early but she's up and dressed and heading towards her office.  
"Good morning, oh esteemed headmistress."  
"Good day to you, Hank," she beams at him. She's positively glowing. "Isn't it a fabulous morning?"  
There was quite a storm last night but the dawn light is clear as her crystal blue eyes.  
"It is indeed." Her happiness is contagious, even in his under-caffeinated state.

The kitchen contains Rachel and Elizabeth, sat at the breakfast bar opposite each other, nursing a coffee and tea respectively, they both look very, very tired and a little frazzled.  
"Good morning, ladies," he greets them and gets bleary looks in return. "You're up early today."  
"We're not the only ones." Rachel nods her head over to the 'fridge.  
Hank breaks into a smile, he just can't help himself.

Their not-so-little miracle is raiding the 'fridge and appears to be building a breakfast tray.  
There's already orange juice and a mug of the vile breakfast tea that only he and Elizabeth can stomach. A habit he picked up while in the UK and never quite broken.

He's wearing an exquisite silk kimono, deep midnight blue, embroidered with lightning in silver thread. Ororo's exquisite silk kimono. It's barely decent, coming half way down those long, lean, muscled legs, clinging to damp, freshly showered fur like velvet.  
Kurt bends down and three pairs of eyes follow the movement, enraptured. Barely decent is rapidly becoming indecent. His tail swishes.

Hank finds himself clearing his throat.  
Kurt casts a languid glance over his shoulder.  
"Good morning, Hank." Further rummaging ensues, followed by a dramatic sigh and another swish of the tail. "Is there absolutely _no_ proper cheese in the house? Or ham?" He picks up an open packet of American cheese between thumb and forefinger and regards it with disdain before discarding it back on the shelf.

Clearly, being dead shouldn't preclude people from keeping ones favourite breakfast makings in the 'fridge, just in case one pops in. How rude.

Betsy hops down of the stool to help.  
"I'm pretty sure there's hummus in there somewhere? There was yesterday." She starts rummaging.  
"_Danke_, but I'm not sure for breakfast..."  
"Cream cheese?"  
"Mm, better, I don't suppose..." no Kitty, no bagels, no lox. There is another slight but noticeable sigh.  
"You can toast some sourdough? I've got marmalade, hidden in the cupboard."  
"And you would share this treasure with me? _Fräulein_ Braddock, you are an angel." He starts sliding the bread into the toaster. Quite a lot of bread. Warren's favourite bread, shipped all the way from Seattle.

"We'll order some stuff for you today." Hank says, conciliatory. Including a dressing gown which is considerably longer. And clothes, and, well, everything. All Kurt currently possesses is a rather threadbare costume, found in a locker somewhere and his rosary, which had been with Charles Xavier's personal effects.

"Butter? Butter. Butter. Butter! Aha!" He spies his prey and puts an entire stick of butter on the tray. The smile on his face is positively...  
"KURT!" Rachel and Elizabeth shout in unison. He turns towards them, blinking amber eyes like a slightly startled cat. Betsy has a hand to her mouth, eyes wide, a blush spreading across her cheeks. Rachel just looks exasperated. And tired. Who knew a recently ex-denizen of heaven could be quite so wicked? Quite so frequently?  
"I'm sorry?"  
"Come'ere!" Rachel commands, she reaches up and puts her hand to his to his temple. "You're thoughts are like a telepathic beacon, you've been like this since you came back."  
"Oh." He tilts his head slightly, "Oh!" He at least has the grace to blush. "My apologies..."

"Let me just sync my rapport with you again. Ah. Better, much better. Betsy?" She relaxes for the first time in hours.  
Elizabeth touches Kurt's cheek, it's clear that the physical contact helps the telepaths do whatever it is they need to do. She looks up at him and her lilac eyes are a little teary. He covers her hand with his.  
"I have missed you. We've all missed you."  
He swallows thickly and looks as though he's about to speak.

The toaster pings and breaks the mood.

The butter is still on the tray. He adds the toast and the jar of marmalade and reaches once more into the 'fridge, retrieving a can of beer.

Hank narrows his eyes, leans over the tray and removes the beer, replacing it from whence it came.  
"No beer. And please tell your pint sized partner in crime that I expect him in the infirmary at eleven. And I'd like to see you at noon."  
"Me?"  
"You. You have the mother of all medicals in your immediate future."  
For a moment, Hank thinks he's going to get an argument, but then Kurt nods slightly, lowering ridiculously long lashes over those spectacular eyes.

Come back from the dead, get a medical exam. It's protocol.

He picks up the tray and disappears in the signature cloud of purple smoke.

Hank returns to his lab, with his precious coffee.  
About an hour later, he's aware that it's still hot. And looks to have been topped up. He takes another sip. Mm, just how he likes it.  
He glances up at the little row of glowing eyes up in the shadows and raises his mug to them.  
"Thanks, boys." Perhaps he won't exterminate them. Yet.


End file.
